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the enormous waves; nor are the ships secure even within their harbours. Such, I imagine, was this raging sea, when it first bore the name of the unhappy virgin. This spot is already too infamous by the fate of Helle; and, though I am spared, the name will be a monument of its crime. I envy Phryxus, who safely crossed those stormy seas upon the ram that yielded the golden fleece. Nor do I yet require the aid of ram or bark; let me have only a smooth sea, that with nimble joints I may plough the yielding deep I depend upon no art; let me only have leave to swim; I will at once be ship, mariner, and pilot. I mind not Helice and Arctos, the constellations that guide the Tyrian mariner. A love like mine asks no aid of vulgar stars. Let others
observe Andromeda, or the bright diadem of Ariadne, and the Arcadian Bear that sines from the frozen pole. Nymphs loved by Perseus, Jupiter, and Becchus, are by no means wanted to guide my uncertain paths. I trust to another light, whose directions are much safer: while this points out the way, my love can never wander in darkness. By observing this, I may sail to the Colchian realm, the remotest regions of Pontus, and all the coasts visited by the famed Thessalian ship. In swimming, I would bear away the prize from young Palæmon, and from Glaucus, who was suddenly transformed by powerful herbs
into a sea-God. My arms often languish through the continued agitation; and, nearly exhausted with toil, are scarcely able to bear me over the wide sea. But when I tell them, You shall soon receive the glorious reward of your labor, and encircle the snowy neck of your amiable mistress, instantly they gather strength, and eagerly strive to obtain their reward, as when a fleet horse starts from the Elean lists.
